She put some starch in her backbone to reply.
Lace knew Vince wasn’t going to be happy with what she’d discovered, but he wasn’t alone in his concerns. Lace was also feeling fully vested now.
She didn’t waste breath. “Inez has ALL. Which is Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.”
When Vince still looked somewhat lost, Lace explained.
“It’s a fast-growing cancer that starts in the bone marrow, producing too many immature lymphocytes; white blood cells that don’t develop properly,” she further clarified.
He nodded. “How…? What…?”
Lace knew exactly what he trying to ask.
“Her prognosis is good. Or as good as any child’s can be at this stage,” she soothed him. “Survival rates hover around ninety percent…”
“That sounds good,” he nodded. “What’s the bad news?”
He’d picked up on her “but” tone, rapidly enough.
“It’s not bad news, per se,” she frowned. “Just a slightly bitter note.”
Vince looked like he was steeling himself as Lace continued.
“Because of the…lack of attention paid to Inez in her foster situation and by her social worker, her symptoms went unnoticed for quite a while until she was finally diagnosed and began treatment. Which means she went through a lot of early pain that she shouldn’t have had to suffer.” Lace tried to shake that off and reassert the positive.
“Luckily, though, a school nurse refused to overlook her symptoms, and made sure she saw a doctor. Now, a couple months later, the attending at the hospital says she’s responding well to her treatments. She’s tracking as being successful in having all her rogue cells eradicated, which will eventually bring Inez to a point of remission.”
Vincent immediately looked relieved, but when he noticed Lace playing with her napkin, he must have figured she had more to say.
“Another, but?” he probed astutely.
“Uh, huh,” she affirmed. “Because of the aggressiveness of this cancer, even with those who begin treatment immediately, ALL patients have to undergo something that with breast cancer, isn’t on my bingo card.”
Lace didn’t add “thankfully”, but she thought it in her head.
When she’d been hit with this next bit of information, Lace had requested that she be allowed to sit with Inez during those adjunct treatment sessions, so the girl wouldn’t have to be alone.
“What would that be?” Vincent asked, tension filling him again.
“It’s called CNS Sanctuary Therapy.”
Vince grunted. “English?”
“CNS stands for central nervous system,” Lace sighed. “Leukemia of this type likes to hide in the spinal cord and the brain, which means intrathecal chemo has to be injected into Inez’s cerebrospinal fluid via a lumbar puncture.”
Vincent sat back, a look of horror on his face. “That’s like a spinal tap, right?”
“That’s exactly what it is,” Lace confirmed. “And Inez has to have that treatment once every week or two, inadditionto her normal infusions. That means she’s not only in on the Fridays we’re aware of, she’s also here on most Tuesdays for her intensified therapy.”
Lace had already received approval to switch her own chemo sessions to Tuesdays.
Once the powers that be had heard the “why” of her request, they’d put the order in almost immediately.
If it was one thing Lace had already learned, it was that the chemo staff at the hospital was not only efficient, but over-the-top empathetic.
“And she’s alone for that, too?” Vince’s voice choked, and he looked appalled.
“So far.” Lace reached over and placed her hand on top of his. “But not going forward,” she was pleased to tell him. “I’ve requested and gained approval to not only change my sessions to Tuesdays, but they’ve sent it up the chain for permission for me to be allowed to sit with her while she gets her spinal infusions.”